


shock of recognition

by ninemoons42



Category: Frank Herbert's Children of Dune (2003), Prometheus (2012), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Androids, Conversations with Self, Crossover, Gen, Past Lives, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:23:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42





	shock of recognition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keio/gifts).



title: shock of recognition  
author: [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ninemoons42**](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)  
word count: approx. 1330  
fandoms: McFassy, Children of Dune (Sci-Fi Channel), Prometheus, X-Men: First Class  
characters: Leto Atreides II, Charles Xavier, David-8, Erik Lehnsherr  
rating: PG  
notes: So the wonderful [keio](http://kannibal.tumblr.com) started drawing [a series of art pieces](http://kannibal.tumblr.com/tagged/Neo-Kralizec) based on a fusion of the Children of Dune miniseries, Prometheus, and X-Men: First Class, and when I saw [this one](http://kannibal.tumblr.com/post/21371407680/and-there-it-was-again-that-inner-voice-leto) I had to ask if I could write something for the AU.  
The paper crane links this AU to keio's [幾千光年の孤独](http://kannibal.tumblr.com/tagged/ikusen-kounen-no-kodoku) universe, as well.  
This was originally intended to be slashy, but both Leto and Charles thought rather otherwise. Still! Now we have Plot!

  
He’s dreaming, blue-in-blue eyes wide awake, memory and voices filling him up.

An image of the Professor in his library. Leto is still fascinated by those unearthly blue eyes – he knows enough of this Other Memory to know that he is, or was, mostly human; that he lived in a place and time that knew nothing of melange, that had no legends of sandworm or of Muad’Dib.

And yet the Professor _looks_ into people and understands them, touches them and knows of them, life and mind entire.

He is sitting behind a desk, and Leto remembers a faint trace of pain, of _no-feeling_ , of the Professor’s blue eyes filling with tears against a deep blue sky.

 _Hello, Leto,_ the Professor murmurs.

 _Hello,_ Leto says. _What are you doing?_

 _Hm – this? Oh. Call it a habit. A predilection, if you will. A reminder of another memory you and I share._ The Professor’s hands are moving in small, graceful arcs, admirable ease of movement, efficiency in every line of him. The piece of paper takes shape in his hands, flatness taking on depth and height.

 _A ritual?_ Leto asks.

_Merely a series of transformations. Geometry, topology, aesthetics. Ah ha, there we go, I thought I’d almost forgotten that step. Here, Leto, would you like it?_

A graceful creation: wings, a tail ending in a sharp point, the head just hinted at with a neat fold. _What is this?_

_A paper crane. I will not bother you with scientific terminology, or indeed the cultural implications inherent in its symbolism. I will simply say that it is a wish for good luck. Specifically, for you._

_I have no need for it,_ Leto says. _I merely admire your handiwork. There is no point in luck, when I walk a path I already know, and cannot deviate from._

 _Yes, well, there is that._ The Professor smiles, and sets the crane aside. _But you can’t blame me for wanting reassurance. A precious commodity, in my time, and perhaps you might appreciate it, too._

 _You are beginning again,_ Leto says.

 _There is an ancient tradition of making one thousand paper cranes in order to make a wish for good fortune,_ the Professor says.

_That will take you a while._

A gentle, knowing smile. _I have time, do I not? Oh. And one more thing._

Leto watches him fold another crane, and another, taking in the simple, austere rhythm of the repeated movements. _I am listening to you. I think I listen to you more than I do the others. My mother and father included._

 _Do not neglect the consensus,_ the Professor murmurs in warning. _It is true that I have a gift – but then, so do they, or this entire line of Other Memory would not exist._

 _Yes. I am aware of this._ Leto taps a finger thoughtfully against his mouth. _Your point?_

Those pale cheeks go slightly pink. _Do forgive me my rambling. But._ The Professor raises a finger in admonishment. _You are here, observing me, for a reason. Have a care with...with David._

_You told me he was loyal, now. You...forced him._

_I did not force him. He made the choice._

_Then you weighted the scales._

The Professor smiles, not entirely a happy expression, and it puts a strange shadow in his eyes. _It seems that the universe is intent on torturing me, right now. Through your eyes I see an image of someone I used to know, someone I have just suddenly been reminded of – and now I hear those words from your mouth._

Leto narrows his eyes. _Explain._

_David was made in the image of someone I knew – and you are speaking like that person, now, is the quiet reply._

_I am sorry._

_Do not be. I have had a long time to accept that both he and I have been right all along. That we have wasted so much time fighting each other, when we should have been allies. When we should have been fighting at each other’s sides. The sentiment was humbling then and it is still difficult now. I envy you your certainty, young God-Emperor; may you ever be able to see your path as clearly as you claim to do now._

Leto nods, accepting the insight – and then he tacks on the necessary question. _That is the plan. Now, about that man, and about David: Have you just told me why you reached out to him?_

 _Perhaps I have._ The Professor sighs heavily. _I needed to confirm my suspicions, and now I know. He does carry a memory in him of that man, of my...I cannot find an adequate word to describe him. He was more than a friend to me. And sometimes, he was my own worst enemy._ The Professor sighs, and beckons Leto close. _Give me your hand, and I’ll open up the memory for you._

Leto reaches for the Professor.

The memory is...bittersweet. The android David’s features in the face of a man: scarred flesh and hot blood; dark hair instead of light; and a face seamed with a thousand lines of pain and rage. A strange affinity for metal beating a dark counterpoint to his heart. Fear, confusion, and the twinned chains of desire and despair binding him.

 _And love. He loved you,_ Leto says.

The Professor nods, but heavily. _He hated me, too. Often at the same time. It was...complicated. And seeing his face here...it hurts. A good kind of hurt._

_You must have a reason for doing this._

_You need an ally,_ Leto, the Professor says, and he bows his head. _And you of all people know what loyalty can be like, as it is one of the lessons you first took from us. When I thought that it would be possible to find you someone with real loyalty – and the capacity for it – I took that chance. You do not have Duncan with you now. You will need someone like him._

When Leto blinks, and comes back to himself – just to himself, when the voices in his head are silent, when the chorus of the Other Memory leaves him alone – he gets to his feet, and moves further into the cave.

David is still where Leto had left him: sitting calmly in the corner, seemingly unfazed by the rocks and the barrenness of their location. His eyes are closed. Gone are the tears he’d shed during their encounter on the sands.

The look on his face is strangely familiar; Leto has seen it before, in his father’s memories. Determination and the shadow of _knowing_ – the face of a Mentat. Men and women who could be as computers.

Except that this one actually _is_ a computer, built to look like a human: since the Butlerian Jihad, the terrible and forbidden reverse of the situation.

He doesn’t make a sound, but the android must sense him anyway, because David is looking at him, eyes slowly opening – strange gray-shifting no-color. “Hello, Leto,” he says.

“Hello, David,” Leto replies.

“You are well? You have slept?”

“I...do not require much sleep.”

“You are an exceptional being,” David murmurs. “Humanoid forms, even here, must require some form of dormancy in order to function at optimal levels.”

“I’ve gone beyond that.”

“The data bears that comment out.” David nods, once, and almost seems companionable. “What do you require of me at this time?”

Leto chooses his words carefully. “Merely...a conversation. About what you have, here,” and he motions to the side of his head.

“You refer to what your other self did,” David says. “Acceptable. Please ask me questions.”

“Give me his name,” Leto says. “The name of that man.”

“One moment, please.” David blinks, slowly. “Memory banks are now available. His name is Erik Lehnsherr. I possess a complete imprint of him, and although the data is corrupt or contradictory in a few places, I can tell you what you need to know about him.”

Leto thinks for a moment; he remembers the Professor’s anguish, his conflict, and nods. “Yes, David. Tell me everything.”  



End file.
